Old Mothers by Charles Ross Mother's Day poem

I love old mothers — mothers with white hair,
And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet,
With murmured blessings over sleeping babes.

There is a something in their quiet grace
That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons;
A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes,
That far outreaches all philosophy.

Time with caressing touch, about them weaves
The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age,
While all the echoes of forgotten songs
Seemed joined to lend a sweetness to their speech.

Old mothers! — as they pass with slow-timed step,
Their trembling hands cling gently to youth’s strength.
Sweet mothers! as they pass, one sees again,
Old garden walks, old roses, and old loves.